


Here, The Place We Wandered Off the Map

by whispered_story



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Reconciliation, Season/Series 09
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-19 22:08:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4762820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whispered_story/pseuds/whispered_story
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One day they'll be able to look back at this – at the months of distance and anger and resentment – and it won't hurt anymore. Maybe not for weeks, or months, but Dean knows they're finally back on track. [reposted, first posted on livejournal 25/4/2014]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here, The Place We Wandered Off the Map

It's been months since he's been this close to Sam.

Dean lies very still. He doesn't dare move so Sam won't wake up and catch him watching. It's dark in the room, the only light coming from Sam's digital alarm clock and a light in the hallway. When they stumbled into the room, kissing and groping, in a hurry to get each other undressed, they must have not shut it properly.

Dean doesn't mind – the door to Sam's bedroom has been firmly closed for too long, cutting Dean off, leaving Dean feeling like he might as well live in a different place, a different town.

It's not like it matters anymore anyway, Dean thinks. It's just them now. No Kevin. No Castiel. No Crowley, thank fucking god. Just him and Sam, the way it used to be once. Only, not quite. They're not there yet, but they're making progress, patching things up as best as Winchesters know how.

Dean has been trying. He knows he's made mistakes and he's been doing everything he can to make up for it. He apologized, he gave Sam space, he tried as best as he could to be a partner and not a brother. Sam's forgiveness had been hard to come by, but Dean hadn't given up. He doesn't _know_ how to give up on Sam – it's what their problems all boiled down to, but it's also been what's helping them now.

Sometimes, Dean wishes Sam wasn't so goddamn stubborn, didn't hold grudges, but it's part of what makes Sam Sam, and Dean loves him for that too.

And, hopefully, one day they'll be able to look back at this – at the months of distance and anger and resentment – and it won't hurt anymore. Maybe not for weeks, or months, but Dean knows they're finally back on track.

He shifts a little, the top of his foot itching, and he tries to rub it against the bedsheets for friction. His eyes never leave Sam's face, though. 

He looks younger when he sleeps. Not the kid Dean remembers, or the sullen, serious teenager, or even the grieving guy who had just left college and a dead girlfriend behind him. He looks more like the Sam from a few years ago, before the cage, before hell, before the devil and angels made everything so damn complicated.

Dean misses that Sam sometimes – the one who smiled at him one day when they got snowed in at a motel, took Dean's face between his hands and kissed him. "Always wanted to do that," he'd said, a soft laugh leaving his lips, and Dean hadn't known how to react other than to kiss Sam again.

It was the only time things between them were ever easy. Not their lives – there'd still been visions, Sam's supposed destiny, and their dad's death – but between them, things had been better than ever. It didn't last long, but sometimes, when things get too tough, Dean closes his eyes and thinks back to how things used to be, how happy they'd been for a little while before life interrupted them again.

Things are different now. _They_ are different. Dean is okay with things not going back to how they used to be, knows they can't, as long as they'll be good again.

As long as Sam will look at him again and smile. Will treat Dean like he's not a stranger. Will kiss Dean like it's the only thing in the world he needs, whisper filthy things in Dean's ear as they fuck, and then hold him close after, knowing Dean's protests aren't really heartfelt.

"I miss you, Sammy," Dean whispers into the silence between them. Sam breathes in with a soft snore, and Dean smiles.

He lies there, will for hours, just watching Sam sleep. Peacefully, happy. 

He has months of not getting to watch Sam sleep to make up for.

 

*

 

Dean sits across from Sam, his foot tapping a light rhythm against Sam's ankle, and reads.

It's some book Sam had lying around, put aside for later. Dean's eyes move over words, sentences, piecing them together without them ever really registering in his mind. It's okay – Dean isn't really interested in some obscure language he's never heard of before anyway. He's not really in their library to read.

He's there because Sam is. Because Sam doesn't pull his foot away from Dean's, and the silence between them isn't uncomfortable, and Dean doesn't mind sitting there, with a book he has no interest in, as long as Sam is there too.

He glances up while turning the page. Sam is hunched over, strands of hair hanging in his eyes and a serene expression on his face.

Dean smiles and goes back to focusing on the book he isn't reading.

"There are a bunch of novels right behind me. Top shelf, on the left," Sam says, sounding all off-hand and casual.

"Huh?" Dean lifts his head, and Sam's head is still down, but he's looking at him through his bangs, a small grin on his face, dimples on the verge of showing. Dean kind of wants to sit and stare at him like that forever.

"Just letting you know we have some books in here you might actually like."

Dean shifts in his seat a little. "I like this," he protests, waving his hand at the book in front of him.

"Hmm. Right," Sam replies. "There's some stuff by Hemingway, some Henry James, a few Steinbeck novels. I think I saw a copy of _In Cold Blood_ among them, too – it was your favorite book in high school, remember?"

"Yeah. I'm good, though, thanks," Dean replies, Sam's ankle feeling warm against his even through the layers of their clothes. He starts turning the page of the book again, just to show Sam how really into it he is, when something occurs to him and he pauses. " _In Cold Blood_ was written in nineteen sixty-something."

"So?"

"So, the Men of Letters were gone by then," Dean says. 

Sam shrugs, but Dean can tell the nonchalance of the gesture is fake. "I was at a bookstore a few weeks ago, and they were selling used novels for next to nothing," Sam says. "I picked up a few that looked interesting."

"Like my favorite novel from high school," Dean adds. He feels lighter suddenly, almost giddy.

"Will you just go get the book already?" Sam asks, a little exasperated. He presses his foot against Dean's. "I don't plan on going anywhere for a few hours, at least, and you're going to get bored."

Dean wants to tell him that he can always leave if he gets bored, find something else to do. He could sort their ever growing weapons collection, or clean the Impala, or make food. Sam is going to forget about dinner if Dean doesn't fix them something and then remind Sam to eat.

"Dean," Sam starts, and gives him a small smile. "I wouldn't mind if you hung out in here for a little while."

Dean's heart jumps. "Fine," he says, in the best gruff voice he can muster up, and gets up slowly.

It's not until he's rounded the table, his back facing Sam's, that he lets himself smile. 

Maybe Sam wants him close as much as he wants to be close to Sam right now.

 

*

 

Dean goes on a grocery run a couple of days later, and Sam tags along.

"Just because," he says casually. "I feel like getting out of the bunker. Plus, I need new blades for my razor and I hate the crappy ones you always buy."

Dean grins, but knows better than to reply.

At the store, Sam trails after Dean, pushing the cart and making a face every time Dean picks up something he doesn't approve of. Dean makes sure to buy all of Sam's favorite vegetables, thinking maybe he can make some kind of stew, and then picks out some fruit for Sam, too.

Between shelves of canned fruit, Sam bumps the shopping cart into Dean's legs and when Dean turns around to glare at him, he just grins.

"What?"

Sam shrugs, grin not faltering. He rounds the cart. "The girl in the vegetable section was checking you out," he says, and crowds Dean in against the shelve behind him. A can topples, falls to the ground with a metallic crash.

"So?" Dean asks, lifting his chin.

Sam shakes his head, looking amused, and kisses him. His lips are warm and soft, and he tastes like the chewing gum he fished out from the depth of the glove department, minty and a little sweet. Dean tips his head back, so the angle is better, and moans softly into Sam's mouth.

He used to hate how much taller than him Sam is. And then Sam kissed him for the first time, pressed against him all big and strong, and all Dean could think was _thank fucking god_.

Sam's hands land on his hips, squeezing them a little, and it's only the squeaky sound of a shopping cart that brings Dean back to reality. He pulls away, hands on Sam's chest, and clears his throat.

Somewhere close by, a little kid starts wailing.

"Right," Sam says, and laughs. "Shopping. Sorry."

He looks less embarrassed than Dean would have expected – the Sam he knows likes to keep things private, just between him and the person he is with. Now, though, Sam looks like he'd rather make out with Dean again, public be damned. 

A woman with the crying kid rounds the corner, looking frazzled, and Dean gives her a quick, polite smile when their eyes meet.

He looks back at Sam and steps away, hands reaching out to straighten his shirt. "Maybe we can hurry things up a little. We got all of the things I came here for, anyway," he suggests.

"Yeah," Sam agrees. "Yeah, I think we're done with shopping."

They share a smile, and Sam grabs the handle of the shopping cart again while Dean mentally tries to map out the fastest way to the checkout.

It's while Dean is paying that remembers Sam's razor blades. "We forgot the blades," he says, and when Sam raises his eyebrows, he adds. "For your razor. It's why you came, remember?"

The cashier raises her eyebrows, probably expecting one of them to make a dash back to get some, but Sam just shakes his head, cheeks flushing pink. "I think I still got some spare ones, actually," he says, and shifts, pressing a hand against the small of Dean's back.

Dean meets his eyes for a split second, and then hands his credit card over to the cashier with a smile.

 

*

 

Dean knows there are still things they need to talk about. The issues between them that they never really resolved, despite Sam's forgiveness. How Dean is unwilling to let Sam out of his sight right now, and Sam isn't doing much better. The hours and days they spent apart, the things Dean has gone through during those times, and Sam's issues, his insecurities, his willingness to sacrifice himself when Dean wants nothing more than for them to stop sacrificing themselves.

Most of all, Dean needs to talk about how not sorry he is for saving Sam's life, questionable methods aside, because selfish or not, it's what Dean does. It's what he needs to do, because he will never be ready to let Sam go without a fight. 

He feels sorry for what he did, but he will never feel sorry for Sam being alive.

And once they've talked, truly cleared the air between them, they will have to move on. Eventually, they will have to burst this weird bubble they're living in right now, clinging to each other and re-learning things about each other they never really forgot. They will have to go back to their normal lives, to reality.

Eventually, it turns out, comes sooner than Dean thought it would, though.

"There's a hunt, couple of hours from here," Sam says one night. He's curled up against Dean, hand lazily running up and down Dean's side. 

For a moment Dean feels caught off-guard. He still feels a little fuzzy from sex, this weird state of bliss and vulnerability and love he always feels after Sam fucks him, fills him up and tears him apart at the seams.

"What?"

"A hunt. Looks like a demon," Sam says, and he sounds a little sad.

Dean turns his head, but doesn't meet Sam's eyes. "Demon. Right," he says and thinks, _I'm not ready_. 

It's only been a few weeks since things got better. Since they kissed for the first time in a long time, and started mending what was broken.

He's just getting used to the way Sam smiles at him again. To Sam's casual touches and quick, stolen kisses even though they're alone in the bunker. To sharing a bed with Sam that's not in some crappy motel, and waking up together without having anything pressing to do. 

Sam shifts, leg nudging further between Dean's, his cock soft against Dean's hip. Dean lifts his left leg over Sam's, trapping it under his. The movement makes his sore muscles twinge a little, makes him feel Sam's come inside him, sticky and warm.

"We don't have to talk about it right now," Sam offers, and Dean sighs.

"It's okay," he says. "We can't just ignore a hunt."

Sam sighs, face close enough to Dean's that he can feel his breath against his ear. "Sometimes I wish we could," he admits softly.

Dean angles his head, catches Sam's lips in a brief kiss. "We still have tonight, right?" he says, tone as lascivious as possible.

Sam laughs. "Want to make the most of it?"

Dean turns onto his side, their legs tangled together, and slides his hand into Sam's hair. "We do have a lot of catching up to do," he says, and rocks against Sam. Despite the fact that they just fucked, that Dean still feels boneless, his cock starts to fill again.

Sam cups his jaw, kisses him as he grinds their hips together, apparently just as ready to go again as Dean is. "We do," he murmurs against Dean's lips. "We will. Dean, we'll catch up. Don't worry."

Dean hums and kisses Sam harder, deeper, silencing him.

Things aren't fixed, aren't perfect, and they might not be ready. But Sam's promise is enough. It's all Dean needs to know they'll be fine.


End file.
